The Hungry Read online

  A voice in Miller's head, one that sounded a lot like Scratch, said, Take him the fuck out! Miller didn't need to be told twice. She punched the biker once, twice, three times in the face, with enough force to crack the engine block of a truck. Blood flowed from Ragnarok's broken features, but his skull did not crack. Amazingly he seemed almost indifferent. He jerked his hand free of the hole in the table. It emerged holding a long, steel bar. He swung the bar at Miller, catching her on the shoulder, not far from where she had been shot. Her body's pain signals exploded. The agony was tremendous, but Penny knew that if she took even five seconds to feel hurt, she would be dead on the floor and soon drained of blood. Sanchez would have won.

  Ragnarok swung the bar at her a second time, this time aiming at her head. Miller stepped inside the blow. She blocked it with her forearm. She grabbed Ragnarok by his good wrist. She spun him around then stepped behind his foot. The move forced the biker to fall heavily backwards. Miller held on to both his wrist and the bar. She tried jerking the bar out of his grasp, but he held on tight.

  "Let go, dumb-ass," Miller whispered. "You're not the one I want."

  But Ragnarok didn't let go. Instead, he pulled her down on top of him. He put his arm around her head and twisted like he was trying to snap her neck. Miller let go of the bar and twisted her body to avoid a critical injury. Then she scrambled off of him and backed away. Miller and Ragnarok squared off again, both hurt and each far more wary of the other's power. Sheppard was watching, his face as tense as a fist.

  In that moment of respite Miller wondered what Sanchez was doing. She risked a glance. The prick had moved to his left and now stood closer to Sheppard. Sanchez was smiling and watching like some MMA trainer. Smug bastard.

  Miller snapped out of it. Ragnarok was coming after her again. He swung the bar at her but missed. Miller lost her balance and started to fall sideways. She was fully exposed. Ragnarok swung again, back handed, but the killing blow never arrived. The biker's eyes widened.

  Sanchez was behind Ragnarok. He'd grabbed Ragnarok's right arm, twisted it so that the bar's end pointed at Ragnarok's head. The big biker had a second to realize what was happening. Sanchez jammed the sharp metal bar into Ragnarok's eye. The steel emerged like an erection from the back of his skull. The biker twitched once as if electrocuted before going limp. Sanchez dropped him to the ground. A dark pool of blood spread at his feet.

  "The fuck?" Miller said, breathlessly. She returned to her feet but stayed in a crouch. She eyed Sanchez warily.

  "I told you, Penny. You are the key to our future. That piece of trash? He wasn't worthy. Now, where were we?"

  "I believe you were about to murder an innocent man," Miller said. She indicated Sheppard, who watched warily. "I was about to kill you to prevent it."

  "Oh, nonsense. We were all still in the negotiating stage. Didn't you ever read 'The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People?'"

  "There's nothing for us to negotiate, Sanchez. Sheppard's not going to help you build your super-army, and neither am I." And then from reflex Miller heard herself say, "You're under arrest."

  "What?" Sanchez roared with laughter. "You are an arrogant woman. Perhaps you forget where you are. There are five hundred men and women loyal to me throughout this base, and there are five thousand zombies on the way here for a Sunday picnic of wine, cheese and human brains. If my men don't get you, they certainly will. You have no other options left. Do you really think you are in any position to arrest me, presuming you even had the authority to do so?"

  "Maybe yes, maybe no. You can't get away with what you've done, Sanchez, because I won't let you. Colonel, you're going to have to answer for all the deaths you've caused in your unholy pursuit of power. And if that damned virus makes me the only person in the world who can stop you, well then shit, guess I'll just have to step up and get the job done."

  Sanchez stared at her, open-mouthed. "Heavens. I had such high hopes for you, Penny. But I guess I was just being a sentimental fool. The truth is that what I most need is your blood. So I suppose after all is said and done, Sheppard is right. See, you're just as valuable to me dead as alive."

  Without another word, Sanchez flowed across the room like some vampire in a B movie, a blur of primordial power, somehow moving almost too fast for Miller to see. Almost. Miller's reflexes kicked in. She sidestepped the attack, allowed Colonel Sanchez to slam into the far wall. The metal frame bowed and plaster dust flew. Miller spun around. She slammed one fist into Sanchez's kidneys, and another one into the back of his head. She put everything she had into those punches, but Sanchez just shook off the blows. He turned to her, reached for her. Penny Miller took that opportunity to kick him square in the balls.

  Uh oh. The son of a bitch barely noticed…

  Sanchez toyed with her, slapping her around with open palms. One blow caught her and Miller's head spun. Shit, he was strong. Desperately, Miller searched for something to use against him. Tried to remember what was in the room, what could be quickly adapted into an assault weapon. Before she could make a decision, Sanchez was after her again, this time for real. He looked like a boxer in the ring, dancing and protecting his own face from habit. Miller tried to keep her own hands up, rather than risk a blow, but as she shifted her balance she left an opening for a right jab. He swung his fist and caught her squarely in the jaw. Miller lost her balance again. Her foot slipped in the sticky pool of blood. Miller went down on one knee. She stayed down, panting and defeated. Men and their upper body strength…

  Sanchez stood over her, fists raised, broad face gloating. One bead of sweat rolled down his tanned cheek. "I think maybe we'll make our baby the old fashioned way after all. Right here and now. I'm just going to bend you over that table and let Sheppard watch. Get used to a brave new world. My world."

  Miller spat blood. "You are bat shit bonkers, dinky dick."

  "Really? I can just take what I want, so relax and enjoy it. It's not too late to change your mind about a partnership, Penny."

  Miller bowed her head in defeat. She moved her body sideways. Her ass went up in the air. Pleased, Sanchez moved to get behind her. Miller quickly swung her leg in a wide arc. She swept Sanchez's feet from under him. His head slammed against the floor, cracking tiles. Sanchez grunted. His eyes lost focus. Miller clawed up his body. She grabbed his hair and pounded his head into the floor. More tile fragments scattered and a cloud of dust rose up.

  Miller found her feet and stood above her foe. "I told you, not with someone else's pussy." She kicked him in the head with her steel-toed boots. "And stop calling me Penny, you egomaniacal stinky-assed military son of a bitch!" Miller kicked and kicked and kicked again.

  Sanchez lay in a puddle of gore. His skull was cracked. His eyes had rolled back in his head. Miller relaxed a bit. He was dead. But then Sanchez snapped out of it. He grabbed Miller by the ankle. Before he could pull her down again, Miller picked up her other foot. She aimed, concentrated all of her power and brought it down hard on his chest, just above the heart. This time the sound was sickening. Sanchez screamed. She felt the chest bones crumble and his spine snap as her foot drove deeply into his chest. Sanchez coughed. Blood erupted from his mouth, eyes and ears. He released his grasp on her ankle. His body finally went limp.

  Miller didn't buy it at first. She stood there for a long moment, waiting for him to move again. She'd seen her share of horror movies. Sheppard stayed motionless on his stool, didn't say a word. Perhaps he didn't want to piss her off even more.

  Finally Miller freed her foot from the viscera with an audible POP. She stepped back.

  Sanchez was dead as Eva Braun's boobs.

  Miller limped over and searched the counter for the handcuff keys. She limped to where Sheppard sat handcuffed to his stool. Sheppard was pale and clearly shaken. Miller unlocked his hands.

  "Are you all right, Sheriff?"

  "You mean, apart from having fought two grown men all whacked on ultra-rhoids and nearly getting my pretty ass kicked in for g
ood in just the last five minutes? I'm feeling dandy. How are you?"

  "I'm just glad you're alive," Sheppard said, sincerely.

  Miller looked at him. He was a handsome devil. Her hormones raged. It was as if she were really seeing him for the very first time. After all they had been through he was still a gentleman, and genuinely worried about her. All the other men were dead now, but Sheppard was still alive and he was actually there for her. What a prince. She couldn't imagine that she had once not trusted him.

  Sheppard stared back at her. Miller took a step towards him, put her hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him deeply. She got lost in the feeling. As if in response, he put his hands on her breasts. Penny could almost hear the violins. It had been so long…

  Then it hit her that something wasn't right. Sheppard had not kissed her back. Instead of fondling her breasts, he was gently pushing her away.

  Sheppard's eyes were moist with emotion. "I'm so very sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Penny. And especially after all this." He looked down at the tiled floor. "See, the truth is I'm gay."

  Miller stared at him. She waited for the punchline. It didn't come.

  "Sorry," he said again, softly. "I didn't mean to toy with your feelings."

  Miller finally got it. She sighed. "That's okay. It figures."

  They both heard a low, moaning sound.

  "Damn," she said, "Are those zombies here already?"

  "Just one," replied Sheppard. He pointed.

  Miller turned. What was left of Sanchez was now standing behind her, those arms outstretched, gore and blood still oozing from its eyes, nose, and mouth. The thing was eyeless, skull crushed, gone totally blind and unbearably hungry. It moaned again piteously.

  "Oh, fuck a duck," Miller said. "You mean I'm going to have to kill that arrogant motherfucker again?"

  "Apparently."

  This time she didn't mess around. She had some sexual tension to get rid of. Miller stepped over to where Ragnarok lay, pulled the steel bar out from his brain with a sickening sucking sound. She hefted it. This would have to do. Miller swung the bar at zombie Sanchez's head, but he must have sensed her intent and deflected the blow with his arm. His other hand shot out, much faster than Miller thought a newly minted zombie should have been able to move. That damned serum again. Sanchez grabbed her by the arm. He pulled her in. He was drooling, a gaping maw the only surviving part of his crushed facial features. Sanchez tried to bite her, but Miller slammed the bar down on his skull, making him miss. The blow bounced off the solid part of his ruined head.

  "The hell?"

  "You're going to have to completely destroy its brain, Sheriff," said Sheppard calmly. He was standing behind her now. Easy for him to say. Miller was in no mood to be lectured about killing zombies. Men were useless anyway.

  Miller hit Sanchez a couple of more times with all her strength, but between his moving arms and the poor angle, the bar just wasn't doing enough damage. Sanchez groaned and snapped at the air like a trapped animal. Miller jumped away from him, spider fast, searching for another weapon. Zombie Sanchez then turned his attention to Sheppard. Any port in a storm. Sanchez practically sprinted across the room—who knew zombies could move that fast?—but Miller got there just in time to keep Sanchez off of Sheppard.

  Something hard bumped into Miller's side as she struggled with Sanchez. She looked down at his uniform belt and saw his pistol, a monster .45 auto. She pulled the gun from its holster, slapped his arms away. She put it up directly into Sanchez's eye and pulled the trigger twice. Boom and boom again. Behind her, Sheppard shouted and covered his ears.

  Blood and brains sprayed across the room. Miller was almost getting used to the sight and the smell. One final time, Sanchez dropped to the floor. This time he was toast. His head was missing from the nose up. The zombie snapped at the air once and finally quit moving. So much for immortality, you dildo.

  "Did he bite you?" Miller didn't want to have to shoot Sheppard too, but she steeled herself just in case.

  "No, I'm fine," Sheppard said. "Penny, I think it's time to go." He was staring up at the monitor. The cameras were still panning the perimeter. An enormous wall of creatures was pressing at the electrified fence outside, relentlessly shuffling forward. The entire zombie horde had arrived. It was just outside the base.

  "Yeah, I think you're right. Let's move."

  She started for the door. Sheppard swallowed bile. He grabbed the iron pipe to have a weapon, yanked it free and followed her. One step from the door, hand outstretched, Miller heard noises coming from the other side. She raised the .45, aimed it at the door, determined to take out a few more before dying. Enough was enough. The door opened. Miller almost fired but yanked the gun up and away just in time. Her mouth dropped open.

  Scratch and Terrill Lee entered the room. Each man was armed with both a rifle and a pistol. Scratch said, "Sheriff?"

  Miller kept the .45 pointed at the ceiling. She took her finger off the trigger, feeling glad that she hadn't shot the two dumb cowboys. She was pretty damned happy to see them again, especially since they were still men and not zombies. Her odds on romance had just improved.

  "What the hell are you two doing here?"

  "We came to rescue you," announced Terrill Lee triumphantly. Scratch looked around, took in Ragnarok and then Sanchez, the two men in pools of blood. He seemed impressed. For her part, Miller glared at the two of them. Upon reflection, she wasn't sure if she was really happy to see them, or pissed by their arrogance. How could they assume that she would need rescuing, much less that they'd have the guts to pull it off.

  "You two jerks. What did you think you were going to find here, Scarlett Fucking O'Hara?"

  Scratch and Terrill Lee exchanged disappointed looks. They frowned like a pair of spoiled children. Miller felt her heart soften. After all, they'd gotten along at last, and even managed to fight their way through the base to find her. Maybe one of them deserved another shot. They'd both done their very best.

  AAACK AAACK AAACK… A loud claxon sounded. That damned perimeter alarm.

  "Uh, somebody loan me a gun," Sheppard said. His voice cracked a bit. "I think the zombies are here."

  EIGHTEEN

  "I thought you two were dead," Miller panted. They moved along, quiet and fast, trotting through the building. They stayed in close, guns up high like porcupine spines the better to protect each other.

  "We should have been." Terrill Lee said, "I got out the window and Scratch here found a ditch to hide in."

  "How the fuck did you get into the base?"

  Boots echoed off tiles and metal plating. They were now running through the deserted halls of the medical wing. The lights flickered on and off. The claxon continued its eerie, annoying screech. Sheppard led the way, followed by Miller and Terrill Lee in tandem. Scratch brought up the rear. He turned backwards at times, sweeping for zombies or freaked-out soldiers. Nothing and no one. The Army was topside, probably fighting or getting set up. They seemed to be alone, at least so far.

  "Wasn't too hard," said Scratch. His breathing was ragged. He wasn't used to all this running. "Zombies are coming from the north. Main gate's in the south. Some of them soldier boys just flat out deserted and left the front door wide open."

  Sheppard was their guide. He took them down a dark corridor to the right and then up a long flight of stairs. As before, they came out near the entrance to a freight elevator. Scratch checked it out. The lights flickered again. They got on the elevator, another shiny metal device, and rode it up two more floors. The elevator stopped as the power dropped out again.

  They stood in the dark. No one said anything, not even Terrill Lee. Being trapped and left to die in a dark elevator wasn't even worth contemplating. The power came back on, so Sheppard hit the button fast as lightning. The doors opened and they spilled out into another dull hallway. Every landmark, wall and door was so ordinary and visually repetitive they would have been totally lost without his help. Sheppard went up a
long ramp that sloped ever upward. They were much closer to the surface and could now hear gunfire and shouting in the distance. Someone was indeed putting up a fight.

  They paused to catch their breath. The loud gunfire above came in rapid bursts but it was coming from far fewer weapons. The human shouts and screams also came far less frequently. Not a good sign.

  Miller said, "How'd you two get here so fast?"

  "Scratch managed to salvage one of the motorcycles," said Terrill Lee.

  "I salvaged two," corrected Scratch. "But this dumb-ass can't ride."

  Terrill Lee craned his neck to look back at Scratch. "You're not going to start that again, are you?"

  "Mighta gotten here in time to do some good…"

  "Shut up and run," Miller snapped.

  They took off again, still following Sheppard. Scratch had some trouble keeping up. He was puffing now, face turning bright red. Too much time on his ass on a road hog. Scratch called to Sheppard. "You think you can slow up a tad there, Rambo?"

  "We're almost topside," said Sheppard. Reluctantly, he changed his pace to accommodate the others. They found another long ramp, a few more stairs. Sheppard paused. He set himself for what was to come. He pushed open a pair of double doors that led into the helicopter hangar.

  What he saw there made him stop short. The others ran into him from behind.

  Miller said, "Aw, Jesus on a slice of wheat toast."

  The place was chaos. A seemingly endless horde of hungry zombies were pouring into the chopper hangar through the large overhead doors. By the tens and twenties they dropped fifty feet from the roof to the floor. The dead don't die, so on they came, just picking themselves up to stumble forward on shattered legs or crawl on hands and elbows. Drooling, moaning, grunting and snapping at the air with ruined teeth. Miller looked up. Thousands and thousands waited above for their turn to enter the fray. The soldiers had machine gun positions set up, and a constant stream of bullets flew at the entering zombies. Most of the uncoordinated barrage did little or no good, either missing the enemy entirely as panicked soldiers forgot to aim, or landing harmlessly in the creatures' torsos, arms and legs. Maybe one shot in a hundred was that critical head shot. The humans were losing the war.